Unexpected Deductions
by Writingwife83
Summary: This takes place somewhere in the realm of season 3 after Molly's engagement is over. Its my version of how Sherlock and Molly slowly move into a relationship stronger than that of friendship. It's all for fun of course, and I own nothing! I'm simply an inspired fan... Please give kind feedback, and hope people enjoy it. :)
1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper rode along the bumpy cab ride and tried her best to wipe off some of the makeup she'd had on with tissues, while peering into her compact. The dark made it almost impossible to see what she was doing, but she was determined to get at least some of it off before arriving at St. Bart's.

It had been about 6 months since Sherlock's return to London, and things had fallen firmly back into the pattern of how things had been the more than 2 years since his faked suicide. He strode into Bart's whenever he felt like it, and demanded of her whatever he felt like, and then left her hanging whenever he felt like it. She had missed him so much, so a part of her didn't really care what he was doing...so long as he was back here.

WHERE ARE YOU? -SH

Molly rolled her eyes and set her mobile back in her jacket pocket. She decided to ignore the text and instead take the time to climb out of the cab, since she had just arrived to the hospital. She rushed in and took the back staff elevator down to the basement level. She quickly scanned her card to enter the main hallway, then again to enter the lab.

And there he was of course. Looking at something under the microscope. He barely looked up from whatever was inspecting.

"I texted you," he said.

"I saw. I decided not to take the time to answer since my cab had just arrived. What do you need?"

Molly almost winced when she spoke those words because the memory was so real and intense. And for a second, she was back in time standing exactly where she stood right now, looking up at Sherlock, who had never appeared so desperate or afraid in all the time she'd known him. And what he needed had been her. And there'd been nothing else she had wanted to do but to be there for him. It was by now a bittersweet memory, considering what had happened in the 2 long years after.

"Would you be kind enough to take Miss Carlson out and allow me to examine her left ring finger?" he said, again without looking up.

She stood there staring, processing this request and began stammering a little. So he spoke again after momentarily raising his piercing eyes from the lenses of the microscope.

"You could've mentioned you were on a date, Molly hopper."

Molly sighed quietly and pressed her lips together. She figured he would have noticed, but had only hoped he wouldn't make any mention of the fact.

"I didn't really think it would make any difference to you. Besides, you said it was urgent. I took that to mean, like, an emergency."

"Well, Molly, a woman was killed as you may recall."

"Yes, Sherlock, two days ago. And she's actually still going to be dead in the morning, at which time I'll actually have a work shift. Not that I need to tell you that. You know when I'm working." Her voice dropped a little. In the rare instances when she wasn't totally compliant with Sherlock's requests, she spoke quieter than usual...and then he'd usually talk her around anyway.

"Yes, but I thought of this _now_...There's been little or no evidence against the boyfriend in this case. But I couldn't help feeling that he must have been involved. Not only due to statistics, but also due to the fact that he failed to mention that they had been engaged. We only found that out from speaking to her mother. While grieving the loss of a significant other, it's only natural that he would have spoken of the fact that they were to be married. I remembered seeing some strange bruising around her left ring finger. I believe they had a row, probably about some sort of infidelity, and he violently ripped the ring from her finger before shooting her. If that's the case, he could be questioned and perhaps made to crack under the pressure and confess. It's usually rather easy to pull out confessions in the case of crimes of passion. Most likely he will be the one to lead us to the gun. But we have to find a reason for questioning. The bruising and missing ring would give us that...Shouldn't you be opening up the morgue and getting miss Carlson?" he said actually raising his head and looking at her with some confusion as to why she wouldn't be at this moment rushing to he morgue door.

"Sherlock, I was...on a date."

"I thought I'd already stated that fact," he said flatly.

"I could have stayed longer. The night wasn't over. If I'd known it wasn't an emergency, I wouldn't have rushed over."

He looked back to the microscope, then responded. "You didn't ask did you? In fact, given the circumstance that you were involved in a date with a man, you got here in record time...Seems to me the evening wasn't going terribly well anyway."

"That's not really...I liked him. He seemed really nice," she said, trying to sound convincing.

"Did he ask to see you again?"

Molly fidgeted with the sash that tied around her floral dress. She looked down at her feet, then back up before responding slowly. "He said he might call me later."

"Did he actually use the word, _might_?" Sherlock put emphasis on the last offending word.

Molly began pulling on the sash till she ended up having to re-tie it completely. She couldn't bring herself to actually say yes. But he of course deduced that yes was the actual answer.

Sherlock sighed slightly, seeming exasperated by having to explain this.

"Well I'd say there's no more than a five percent chance of him calling you in the future anyway. I'd say you did yourself a favor by leaving early."

"He seemed nice," she said again, almost to herself.

"He's clearly not interested...and no wonder. You're presenting yourself as extremely desperate."

Molly's eyes shot up in horror and she kept her wounded gaze on the dark curly head that hadn't looked back up at her. "Well I...I don't see how I'm..."

His eyes seemed to reluctantly come back to land on her, and he took a few steps away from the table and toward her.

"Molly, you've spent at least an hour on your hair. Anyone could tell it doesn't have that much natural curl or body. Your dress is, although figure faltering, much tighter than you would normally wear. And the neckline is plunging to the extreme. I've never seen you wearing heels more than half that height. And anyone who sees you walk would be able to tell you're not used to it. Your makeup is also overdone, especially considering you were five minutes ago wearing even more than I see right now."

She stared back at him and felt the pressure rising and threatening in her throat. She hoped that the lighting was low enough that he wouldn't see her face reddening. He continued.

"There's really no reason to get desperate as of yet Molly. It's been a grand total of a few weeks since your relationship with Tom ended. And you're 31, not 45. Perhaps you should worry a bit less about your relationship status and throw yourself into your work...which right now involves retrieving the body of Miss Carlson. Shall we?" He gestured toward the door that led from the lab to the morgue.

Molly had rarely felt so angry at Sherlock. She was afraid she'd start to cry in front of him, which was something she had been able to avoid thus far in the years she had known him. But the things he had just said to her were hurtful in the extreme. There were few aspects of her appearance and actions that he had missed insulting. And for the first time since he had come back from the dead...she wanted nothing more than for him to be out of her sight.

"Come with me Sherlock," she said in a slightly shaky voice, and opened the door back into the hallway.

He frowned a little as he followed her lead through the door and stepped into the hallway. "I'm not sure why we would go this way when there's a perfectly direct route through the lab."

Molly let the door to the lab swing shut and she began marching down the hallway silently, but took her shoes off systematically as she moved. In a minute, she passed the door that would lead from the hallway to the morgue and kept walking.

"Molly, where _are_ you going?" Sherlock demanded as he stopped in his tracks by the morgue.

She turned and faced him a few feet away and tried to set her mouth in a stern expression.

"I'll see you out, Sherlock."

"You can't leave, Molly Hooper. I can't get back in here without you."

"I'm aware of that, Sherlock, and you should be glad I had let you stay here after I'd clocked out 4 hours ago. I'm happy to tell you that I'll be right back here in 8 hours. My shift starts at 7, but you already know that. So I'm sure I'll be seeing you first thing."

She turned back around and swiped her card to open the door leading back into the hallway with the elevators. She held it open as she went through and waited for him to follow.

Sherlock gave her a icy stare, then finally walked forward and out the door.

"It would seem you are attempting to somehow punish me for my honest, and I assume accurate, description of your evenings activities," he said in an irritated tone as Molly abused the elevator button multiple times trying to force it to move faster.

The elevator finally arrived at the basement and the doors opened. Molly took Sherlock by the arm and guided him through the doors, then stepped back into the hallway. He stared back at her in shock as the doors began to close.

"Best deduction I've ever heard. Good night, Sherlock."

The elevator disappeared and Molly stood there in the silent white expanse of the hospital hall. That's when the tears began to fall. She sunk to the floor and rested her back against the wall. She yanked the pins out of her hair that had been holding it half up and let the curls fall loosely around her face. What a fool she felt like now, having wondered earlier if Sherlock would somehow take a second glance seeing her all dressed up like that. She reminded herself that she should know better by now.

But she wondered if she would ever really know better.


	2. Chapter 2

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," John Watson said as he stared up at Sherlock in disbelief.

His best friend paced around the room looking frustrated. He stopped and looked down at John. "I know! After coming all the way to Bart's, she leaves. Leaving me with no way of re-entry and ruining my plans for the night. I could have been there for at least another three hours!"

John chuckled and shook his head. "You're a big idiot Sherlock. You do realize that right?"

"What? You're not going to tell me I shouldn't have even mentioned the fact that she had overdone it for a clearly less than worthy date. It was painfully obvious John! I was simply trying to make the point that there was nothing she was missing by instead spending a couple hours on important and productive business in the lab with me!"

"I'm surprised you lived to tell the tale to be honest. She's a saint for simply showing you the door! Sherlock...you know how she feels about you."

Sherlock flopped down on his couch and lay down on his back, positioning his hands in the normal steeple position against his mouth.

"If you're referring to that silly infatuation, John, do catch up. That was years ago! And besides, any emotional fragility would more likely be connected to her failed engagement with that ridiculous Tom fellow."

"Well you'd better apologize tomorrow if you hope to be allowed back into that lab ever again in your lifetime. I knew Molly would crack one of these days. You drove the poor girl round the bend!"

John got up and put on his coat.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, with a wounded tone to his voice.

"Got to get home to Mary. She's home from work now. Glad I stopped by to hear your sorry tale though. Hopefully you can weasel your way back into Molly's good graces tomorrow...God only knows how you always seem to find a way."

"Mmm," Sherlock responded flatly as he closed his eyes, trying to relax.

"Good night, Sherlock!" John called as he went through the door.

"Good night, John." He sat up once John had left.

He began to go over all the Molly data in his head that he could dig up. He went over the 3 years he had known her before his supposed death, and then the past six months being back from the dead. But there was really only so much actual data. Much of Molly was...emotional, and that was harder to deduce. Clearly she had been upset tonight, but there were lots of things she seemed to hide, perhaps unconsciously, underneath awkward and nervous behaviors. Those thing made actual feelings more difficult to see. Was she hiding fears, secrets, romantic attachment, or something totally different? He was irritated to admit that it was hard to tell.

He remembered coming to her for help that fateful day six months ago. She had been, and would always remain, his savior. Sherlock normally preferred to believe he was not dependent on many people. But that was an instance that he would never forget. And he would never be ashamed to say that Molly Hooper was the key means of preserving his life that day.

And all she had wanted to know was "what do you need?" He remembered how she looked up at him, and she didn't even question. Didn't ask first what was going on, or ask why he needed her. She just wanted to give him whatever it was he needed. It was a rare moment when there were no nerves in Molly's eyes. She looked determined to help and to be there for him. And in that moment, she was the stronger and braver of the two of them.

Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut suddenly and he pursed his lips. He hated dwelling on...sentiment. He got up from his seat and literally shook his head to rid these thoughts from his head. _Enough of that_! But he realized the damage had already been done. He'd begun to feel a little...bad. He remembered how he felt while Molly was helping him on the day of "the fall," and he recalled thinking that he'd never allow anything to happen to this woman. He'd forever be in her debt. Of course in Sherlock's mind at the time, that conjured images of taking a bullet for someone, or making sure they were never strapped with explosive,s or caught up in a terrorist plot. He struggled to imagine what else he could do to repay this heavy debt. But he had a feeling he knew what John would say if he were still there.

"What do you need?" He heard again in his head. The innocent sweet voice speaking it.

He decided he couldn't think any more about Molly Hooper tonight and had to get some rest. He'd have to deal with it in the morning. He threw himself back on the couch and pulled the throw that lay on the arm on top of him. He let out a frustrated sigh as he tried to go to sleep.

He had hoped to get ever so much more done by this hour tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly pulled her hair back in a ponytail and put on come Chapstick in the locker room of the hospital basement. She was then trying to apply some cover up under her eyes to hide the dark circles from a night of crying and little sleep.

"Molly?" came the deep voice in the doorway.

She jumped and whirled around, still blending in the makeup on one side. She quickly shut her locker door and walked over to where Sherlock stood tall in the doorway.

"Sherlock...morning," she said quietly, without eye contact.

He moved aside and she walked out of the room down the hallway. Sherlock followed her and silently stayed in stride next to her. They came to the morgue and Molly let them in and began her usual routine. She completed signing in and turning everything on, then she looked at Sherlock who stood there saying nothing.

"Still wanting to see miss Carlson then?"

"Mmm, yes."

"Right. I'll just get her then."

Molly pulled the correct large metal door open and slid the slab out which held the body of the young woman who had died from several shots to the torso. Molly handed Sherlock a pair of gloves and he pulled them on. He lifted her hand and examined the woman's left ring finger. It did indeed look like bruising that a tightly fitted ring would make if it had been pulled hard and fast.

"I'll have to let Lestrade know he should bring the boyfriend in. Nobody pulls their own ring off so hard it practically breaks the finger. And seeing as there's no sign of breaking and entering, she had to have willingly allowed the killer into her home. Done. You'll be taking a break around nine, won't you?" he asked, still keeping his eyes on the dead woman's hand.

"Me? Right, yes I usually do."

"Hmm...Well I may as well come back around then anyway. I'm sure I'll have something to do...other things in the lab. You look as though you could use a very strong coffee this morning. Shall I bring it?"

Molly shot a suspicious glance at him and wasn't sure if she had just heard him correctly. "Y-you? You want to bring the coffee? But...when you come to the hospital, I always get the coffee..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am aware of that. That doesn't actually mean I'm incapable of getting myself and another person's coffee." He pulled the gloves off and threw them in the trash. "I am actually trying to do something...nice," he added, and they finally made eye contact.

He seemed a little nervous, and Molly looked at him still with some disbelief. She raised her eyebrows a little and he could see that her look had turned to questioning. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, the way he often did before saying something. Molly kicked herself for thinking, _and I've already forgive the big_...

"it did come to my attention that I was somewhat...unfeeling last night. It was not my intention, and I didn't actually want to upset you." He sucked in a breath, as if that took all the air in his body. Clearly not, Molly thought, seeing as his ramblings of deductions were usually 20 times longer than that short speech.

"And when you say, came to your attention, you meant John, right?" She tried not to smile yet.

" John was perhaps partially involved...but not completely...Forgive me Molly." His eyes seared into hers.

She felt her heart pounding, and took a deep breath. She swallowed hard, and allowed a little smile to creep onto her lips.

"That's the second time I've ever heard you say that to me. It's a good thing you make it sound so nice. Makes up for all the times when you don't say it...You're forgiven."

He bestowed a small smile upon her, and she treasured that as much as the apology. His smiles were few and far between. It was quickly gone too. His face set again and he turned.

"See you at nine, Molly!" he called as he went for the door.

"Oh wait! Sherlock, Do you know how I like-"

"I think I know how you like your coffee, Molly Hooper. I don't miss a thing remember?"

And with another small smile, he slipped out of the door and she watched his shadow disappear down the hallway.

She shook her head a little, and muttered, "You miss so much, Sherlock."

* * *

><p>Sherlock approached the door to the morgue and before he had the chance to knock, he stopped, and saw Molly busily recording notes into a lap top on her table. She seemed to be bothered by her hair and reached up in a frustrated motion to pull the ponytail out. Her hair fell down then mostly to one side of her head and it was apparent that there were residual waves from last night's styling. She peered out of the mass of hair at the computer screen and kept typing after tucking some behind her ear.<p>

He hadn't bothered to knock yet simply because he was watching her. He frowned at himself and used a foot to bang on the door, having a coffee in each of his hands. She looked up immediately and rushed over to come into the hallway. All the while she fumbled with her hair, again putting it into a ponytail.

"Hello! Why don't we go to the break room," she said with a bright smile.

They sat down at the small table in the room adjoining the locker room where the basement staff usually took coffee and lunch breaks. Molly sipped her coffee and Sherlock barely touched his. A few minutes past and he was beginning to wish he hadn't done this. His dealings with Molly always were surrounded by cases, and pathology, and corpses. He was acutely aware now of the fact that they had nothing to discuss with the lack of professional topics. Of course it was Molly who broke the silence.

"Is Moriarty's whole crime network gone now?"

"Almost completely. Most of it was easy of course. There's still some left though. And the fewer of them left, the harder it seems to locate and destroy them. I have a feeling Moriarty planned for all possible scenarios in much the same way I did. He made sure that we wouldn't be free of him for a very long time, even if he was in fact gone. I knew it didn't end when I jumped off this roof. It wasn't an ending, I felt that my work had just begun." He continued looking out the small half window at the top of the wall while he spoke.

"But you did it. And at least you could keep busy during these last couple years. You still had quite a purpose. The rest of us had to just sit around here, going on with life.."

Sherlock looked at her and could tell there were things she wasn't saying, as was normally the case. The general information would indicate that these past couple of years had been eventful and happy for Molly. He had gathered that she met Tom about six months after his "death" and disappearance. So for most of the time he was gone she had been deeply involved in a serious relationship. That usually seemed Molly's main goal in life. So Sherlock could hardly see what had been so terrible about that period in time.

He felt that it was only polite to try to make normal conversation at this moment, since he had just tried to apologize this morning.

"How were things...at work? While I was gone I mean." The question was clearly forced. He seemed pained to engage in small talk.

Molly looked at him and noted that he was making some sort of effort. She thought about how exactly to answer this question and cleared her throat.

"Well it was...quiet. I was alone a lot more than before. Which was fine, really! I actually got quite a lot of work done." She gave a forced smile which Sherlock glanced at before returning his gaze to the cup he was merely holding.

But his lips began to curls slightly and he smiled a little before saying, "You were bored."

Molly suppressed her own smile. He was right of course. She had been horribly bored and lonely. Every day she waited to see that face in the hallways of the hospital and showing up unexpectedly at the door of her lab, waited for some ridiculous Sherlock request that he expected to be fulfilled five minutes ago. He had said he'd come back, and she never stopped expecting him to. But it was a long and painful expectation, and she felt pressure from friends to stop grieving for a man who had never been interested and was now dead. She couldn't wait forever, and that's why she broke down and went out with Tom. There had been something hanging in the air though when she and Sherlock had shared that final day together, and it made her extremely hesitant to move on. Now after so much time had passed, she realized that it was an emotionally charged time for Sherlock, and any tenderness she had picked up on had been purely due to that situation...not directly related to her.

"You're not the only one who gets bored sometimes," she said quietly.

Sherlock inhaled slowly and took another small sip of his coffee. Probably the second one since he'd come to Bart's. He got up, clearly indicating he was done with this forced chatty coffee break. Molly got up too and threw away her empty cup.

"Thanks for bringing the coffee, Sherlock. That was nice of you."

He nodded and picked up his scarf, quickly looping it around his neck. He started to the door, but stopped just before leaving and turned.

"Oh, and Molly...Your hair looks nice today."

In hindsight, she felt she probably looked like her cat Toby when beginning to throw up. She was trying desperately to push some sort of words out of her mouth, but couldn't quite make it happen, and instead just stood there looking like an idiot with her mouth hanging open and her face beet red.

"Th-thanks," she finally squeaked out.

He raised his eyebrows and looked around a bit uncomfortable it seemed while he rocked on his heels, then finally made an actual exit while saying "See you soon I'm sure, Molly," as he let the door shut.

Molly collapsed back into the chair she had been in and put her face in her hands. She'd rarely ever heard a genuine compliment of appearance, with no ulterior motives, come out of Sherlock's mouth.

She wondered if it was possible to go into shock due to getting a compliment from Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly always found herself trying too hard. Despite the fact that she knew it was pointless and it made her look like an idiot. So she made a solemn vow with herself that tonight would be different.

Mary had called a few days ago and invited her over to her and John's flat for some dinner. "Everyone" would be there, and Mary had wanted to have Molly there so they could get to know one another a little better. She was touched really, because Mary couldn't have knows much more about Molly than whatever she heard from John and Sherlock. They must not completely put her down when in private, the way that she sometimes feared they do.

She didn't bother to dress any different, or do her hair, or put on more than her usual coverup and blush. She just put on her favorite jeans and a sweater and pulled her hair to the side in a lose ponytail. She had picked up a bottle of wine and decided that was enough to bring for a casual friends dinner party.

Molly arrived at the flat after most other guests already had, and so most of the party didn't take much notice when she came in and began to hang up her coat and take her shoes off. Much to her surprise, Sherlock came directly over to where she stood by the door, audibly announcing, "Hello Molly! Good of you to make it!" but then adding under his breath "Mary has clearly invited some idiot single male friend of hers to meet you this evening."

"What?!" she sputtered out, looking horrified and searching the small crowd immediately.

"For God's sake, Molly, try not to be so obvious. Do not look right now, but he's the one wearing the tan jacket and he's got a dark crew cut...I said do not look right now!"

"But, Sherlock, how do you know...oh, never mind," she said, wondering how many times in the course of her life she would stop herself mid sentence from asking that pointless question.

He seemed to indulge her this time, because he began to explain. "He has no connection to the people with whom John and I are acquainted. And he's also being introduced to the other friends of Mary's as if he's never met them before. Those other friends of Mary's are all married or dating, so he couldn't be here for the benefit of them. Most likely he's an old friend who recently got back in touch. He looks to be in some sort of construction work based on his hands, but he made some sort of an effort to pull himself together tonight based on this fresh hair cut and the fact that he's wearing too much after shave. It was clearly an effort to be kind on Mary's part, seeing as you are recently broken up and he's clearly single..."

"Sherlock?" she cut in.

"Hm?"

"Do me a favor, and please try to answer this question as honestly, and kindly as possible. Do I look alright?"

Sherlock frowned as he looked down at her and the wheels began turning in his head.

"Molly, you can't possibly be considering...believe me, the man is a complete and utter moron. Haven't you had enough of those for a lifetime? I've already spent a full half hour listening to the man talk, though all I had to do was watch him to know how ridiculous he is. He's a liar, Molly! Half of what he's said to the people here are lies, and those were stupid petty things. Think of what else he may be lying about! Actually, give me another five minutes with him and I'll be able to tell you." Sherlock began to turn, but Molly grabbed his arm.

"Stop, Sherlock! Just leave it. I can handle myself alright? You don't need to deduce literally everything all the time. I am capable of finding my own boyfriends..._don't_ say it...now, can you please just answer my question so I can actually leave the welcome mat?"

Sherlock was extremely frustrated. Clearly she couldn't pick proper boyfriends, as she was well aware he could point out. Why not take his expert advice on this man who she'd never met before? What could be more useful? But he sighed and looked her over again.

"You look like Molly Hopper, and that's exactly how you should look."

She stared back at him, then broke free of his steely eyes to walk past him and greet Mary and John.

Sure enough, this Blake fellow was one of the first people to be introduced to Molly, which completely confirmed what Sherlock had already known. He watched as the man offered Molly a drink and they talked to a few other people before taking a seat in the living room with a few other friends.

Sherlock marched into the kitchen where Mary was getting some food together and John was helping her.

"How long have you known that man Mary?" he demanded.

"What? What man, Sherlock?"

He rolled his eyes and gestured outside the kitchen. "The one making a disgusting display in front of Molly!"

Mary laughed a little and exchanged a look with John.

"Sherlock, I went to school with him. He's a nice guy. Moved back here recently and found me online. I felt badly for him since he doesn't know many people around here since coming back, so I invited him here tonight. What's the problem? I figured Molly could do with a little distraction since Tom."

"Clearly you don't know who he truly is. He's been lying about stupid little things to your guests in an effort to impress people. No doubt he'll do the same thing with Molly, and it'll probably work too! That girl needs to stay away from men, she cannot pick a decent one!"

John and Mary both tried to contain laughter and Mary picked up a tray to take out to the living room.

"She's a woman Sherlock, and you may just need to take a step back and stay out of it," Mary said with a smile as she walked past.

Sherlock leaned against a counter and looked over at John. "What?!"

"Nothing! Nothing at all. I just had thought that you'd perhaps be relived that Molly is paying someone else all the attention tonight. Must be a terrible burden all the time for you to be so deeply adored by another human being. Perhaps you should just enjoy the weight being lifted from your shoulders!"

Sherlock's eyes widened, and then narrowed. And he looked at John, or rather right through him, as he was clearly onto something. Then he said, "You are rather more experienced at these things than I am, so I do in this instance need your input."

John looked around him in mock amazement. Then Sherlock continued.

"Would you say that history of an extended romantic attachment to one person would outweigh the excitement of a first encounter with another person who you find attractive?" he asked at the speed of light.

John cocked his head and looked confused. "Say what, Sherlock?"

Sherlock gave a look of "how could you not understand me?" and then went on to clarify for his friend.

"To put it bluntly, Do you believe that Molly's past feelings for me would be enough, if put to good use, to distract her from this man she's just met?" He raised an eyebrow at John.

John's eyes widened in horror at the idea Sherlock was proposing.

"Sherlock, you cannot be serious. Please tell me you wouldn't do that! Sherlock, get back here, you are making a _huge_ mistake and she will never forgive you this time! Don't be a fool!"

"Clearly your answer is a yes. And don't worry, John, it's for her own good. I'd do the same for you...well not exactly. But I'd be sure to come up with some other sort of brilliant plan to steer you away from a foolish choice in romance. Hmm, isn't it nice I wont have to worry about you on that score now?"

"You are not listening to me, Sherlock! You're playing with fire, and you're gonna burn yourself and everyone else in this dinner party!" he tried to say as loud as he could, but Sherlock had already left the kitchen at the word "listening."

John rubbed his temples and groaned as he poured himself a glass of wine.

Sherlock made his way past a couple people and sat right next to Molly on the couch, who was deeply involved in a conversation with Blake. But because of how purposely conspicuous he made his taking a seat, she turned and acknowledged him.

"Oh, hi, Sherlock. Thought you'd be with John."

He made a quick note that if he over did it, she would actually be able to see that he was making a show and would disregard his attention with some irritation. He would have to be a bit more subtle.

"I was. I wanted to come sit with you for a while though."

She looked up from her glass of wine, and already seemed flustered. Even from that small mention of his desire to be close to her. He couldn't help but think to himself, _this is going to be incredibly easy_. Definitely easier than he had even thought. But it seemed Blake wasn't easily put off. He attempted to continue their conversation as if Sherlock hadn't ever sat down.

"Must be a little weird working with dead people all the time. I don't think I could ever do that!" Blake said to her.

"Molly is one of the best in her field. I'd certainly never want to work with anyone else," Sherlock interjected, and he made a point to examine Molly's face thoroughly with his eyes as he spoke the words. He watched as color began to rise in her cheeks, and she nervously looked back at him. He had a passing thought that he hadn't told one word of a lie so far.

Blake clearly didn't have any desire to talk with anyone but Molly, but he took the cue that Sherlock wanted in on the conversation, so he reluctantly asked, "So, you two work together?"

"Not officially!" Molly answered quickly. "He's in the lab often, just to gather information though. He helps the police with some detective work." She watched the two men nervously as she noted that they were eying each other.

"Detective eh? Interesting," Blake said quietly. And Sherlock scanned him up and down, deducing that the idea of him being a detective made the man very nervous.

Sherlock felt this was going to be trickier the longer Molly stayed sitting next to this man. He needed to figure a way to remove her from the couch...Then he saw his opportunity as a friend of Mary's was making her way to the chair next to where he sat. She was carefully balancing a glass of red wine.

He moved the coffee table ever so slightly which made it touch the woman's leg as she took her next step. She lost her footing, and spilled her wine perfectly onto the front of Sherlock's jacket and shirt. There was a moment of commotion as there was a flurry of "sorry" and "not to worry." And, as he knew she would, Molly jumped up to help him as he made his way to the kitchen.

"Oh, Sherlock that's probably ruined!" she said in a worried tone as he removed his jacket and the dark stain was revealed that covered almost the entire front of his white shirt.

"My own stupid fault. I shouldn't have been moving the coffee table with my foot. Perhaps they have some club soda or something," He slowly began searching for something among the bottles laid out on the counter for guests, waiting for what he knew she would say next.

"No, no, there's no point to that now. It needs to be left to soak. The stain's huge! We can't just douse you in club soda!" she laughed a little. Molly then stuck her head out the kitchen door and called to john.

"John, could you get Sherlock a clean shirt to borrow? This one's got to have a soak."

"Good lord, Sherlock," he muttered under his breath, then said aloud to Molly "Right away. I'll get something."

She looked back at Sherlock who was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt in the middle of the kitchen. She fought the urge to turn around like a teenage girl who couldn't handle the sight of a man without a shirt on. But she was also afraid that she couldn't contain the redness in her cheeks, so she tried (with little success) to focus her eyes elsewhere. He had the buttons all open and was undoing the cuffs when John came in holding a shirt.  
>John came in and stopped for a second, rolling his eyes at Sherlock, out of the view of Molly.<p>

"Here you go you blundering idiot," he muttered.

"These sleeves are going to be extremely short on me I believe," Sherlock said, ignoring the disdain in John's voice, and pulling the stained shirt off.

"Right! I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?" John said with one more look at Sherlock before walking out shaking his head.

Sherlock pulled the shirt over his shoulders and began fastening the buttons. When he finished, he held his arms out and smiled at Molly who laughed at how ridiculously short indeed the sleeves were.

"Here, why don't you just roll the sleeves up instead? I think that looks nice anyway." He was pleased to see that she came right over and began folding one of the cuffs up once, twice, three times. She smiled at her handy work. "Much better right?"

"Much," he said softly. More softly than he actually meant to, but she was standing too close to him...and his voice seemed to change itself without his consent. He looked down at her as she repeated the same folding on the other arm.

"_What do you need_?" He heard it again in his head, same as the night he had felt sorry for hurting her feelings. It bothered him. He wasn't sure why he was hearing it right now, let alone at all. But then he remembered what his goal was this evening, and concluded that perhaps he was drawing sentimental memories to the surface in a unconscious effort to help his cause.

"Thank you, Molly," he said, softly again, as she finished the second sleeve.

"It's ok, I don't mind," she said, and he could feel her nervousness as she stood so close to him. But she did manage to look up at him, and when she did, he almost had to look away.

It was a little like deduction. It felt the same. The wheels turning and thoughts racing. But it was the feeling of deducing something that he'd almost rather have left uncovered. And that didn't happen often. Sherlock began to think that there was a good reason he hadn't paid much mind to Molly Hopper in the past. Maybe he had always knows somewhere in the extensive catalog of his mind that it would be a dangerous disadvantage. A dangerous disadvantage that he'd done well to avoid thus far in his life.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked quietly noticing that his gaze seemed intense. When she said it, she very gently grasped the hand that hung at his side. She seemed to have done it unconsciously, because she looked extremely shocked and seemed to stop breathing when she felt Sherlock's fingers close around hers. But she added, "are you ok?" in no more than a whisper, and she searched his eyes with some concern.

It occurred to him that she'd never seen him looking at her like this except for when he believed he could be about to die. And in a way, this was a very similar feeling to the one he had experienced that day.

"I'm not...sure," he said in a deep whisper, and it was the truth.

"Well," Molly began slowly, and he swallowed nervously as he saw how her gaze had begun to dart back and forth from his eyes to his lips. "What's wrong?"

He drew in a slow breath and carefully considered his answer. He began to squeeze Molly's hand more firmly and he felt her respond in kind. He watched as her breath quickened in connection to the increased pressure of his hand on hers.

"At this exact moment, Molly?" he said softly. "Nothing."

Molly gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and looked back at him clearly questioning what in the world was going on and what in the world she should do next. She was frozen in fear, and terrified that somehow she was inventing all of this that was happening in front of her eyes.

Sherlock leaned his head down until his forehead was almost touching hers. He saw Molly's eyes flutter closed when he did this, and then fly open again. Then she tilted her face upwards, first brushing his nose with hers, then going further and further till he felt just a touch of her lips against his own. And just as his own lips began to part...

"Oh that's just brilliant!" Blake said rather loudly as he walked into the kitchen. Sherlock and Molly were both startled into releasing their hands and stepping a foot or two back from each other.

Blake left the kitchen and they heard him leave the party a moment after speaking to Mary and John. It all happened at such a speed that Sherlock's mind had trouble keeping up for once. He ran a hand along the back of his neck as Mary and John came in the kitchen.

"Sherlock, why on God's green earth are you kissing Molly in my kitchen? You've scared away a guest now! And for what?" John demanded.

The crimson that had been in Molly's cheeks had drained away now and she looked rather pale. "Sorry, John. Sorry, Mary," she said in a sheepish voice.

"Oh believe me, Molly, it's not your fault!" John said, glaring at Sherlock.

"John, would you please not..." Sherlock began, suddenly afraid of what he would say.

"He was a perfectly normal nice guy, Sherlock! You could've just let the deducing take a back seat for once," he continued.

"John, maybe you shouldn't..." Mary began, as she had perceived what John hadn't.

"Wait, what? You mean...Blake?" Molly uttered now in a horrified tone as her eyes darted back and forth between John and Sherlock.

She began to draw the conclusion that Sherlock had now been afraid of. And he somehow wondered why this scenario hadn't clearly been played out and expected already in his mind. He realized that he had never before hurt her the way that he'd just hurt her right now in this moment. Not because of his driving away this man that had been interested in her, but because of what she now believed he had faked. He saw her eyes begin to fill.

"How...dare you?" she said in a shaky voice.

"Molly..." he began, though he wasn't really sure how else to proceed.

"I can't, Sherlock, please...Sorry guys, I didn't mean to cause any problems. I'm going to head home," she said to Mary and John. She left the kitchen and John went to see her out. Mary came over to Sherlock and put a hand on his arm.

"If you spoke up, I don't think she'd be leaving here crying right now. Never thought I'd see Sherlock Holmes speechless. How does it feel to be like the rest of us for once?" Mary gave him a little smile before leaving him alone once more in the kitchen.

Sherlock heard the door close and knew Molly had left the flat now.

"It feels awful...and wonderful," he said quietly to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

John knocked loudly on the door so that he could be heard over the sound of Sherlocks violin.

"Come in, John!" he called, but didn't stop playing.

He came in and made his way past piles of papers to take a seat on the couch. He sat there for a moment, not saying anything, as Sherlock continued to play. He finally set the instrument down and spoke as he walked around to another part of the room.

"Is there something you need, John? I'm working on a case."

"Anything you need my help with?"

Sherlock kept moving about the room and made some notes on a piece of paper before moving some books over to the kitchen table.

"You didn't come over here to ask me if I need help on a case you didn't yet know I was working on. What is it, John?"

"Look, Sherlock, I had a talk with Mary, about this past weekend. She feels pretty strongly that I may have...misread things, and that I shouldn't have had such a big mouth. So...I'm sorry."

Sherlock didn't respond yet, so John kept on talking.

"I was sort of feeling bad for Molly. Felt like I had to give you a bit of an ear full for having her on like that. Thing is, that's what Mary thought I was wrong about...Were you seriously jealous, Sherlock?"

He didn't actually answer John for a moment as he continued writing something. Then finally stood up straight and spoke.

"John, really, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! First of all, have I ever been jealous of any of Molly's extensive list of boyfriends? Second, I clearly have nothing to be jealous of seeing as I was able to pull her into your kitchen and have her eating out of my hand in under five minutes!" He whipped his violin up from its stand and began playing again.

John frowned a bit as he watched his friend. Even he could deduce that something didn't smell right.

"Actually, Sherlock, I have a different question I think...I'm not asking if you're jealous of Molly's male friends. Clearly you're not since you're ever so confident in yourself. What I'd actually like to know is, do you have _feelings_ for Molly Hooper?" He leaned in and peered at Sherlock.

Sherlock continued playing, and didn't seem to give any hint of an answer. John got up and walked over closer to where Sherlock stood by the window. He looked at his friend who didn't look back at him.

"Sherlock, you know it is ok if you do in fact have feelings for her. What do you think? That the world would end if Sherlock Holmes wasn't alone every night?...I can vouch for the fact that it's a pretty nice way to live, having a woman who loves you. It's nothing to run away from. I'd certainly never have been upset at you if I'd known you were earnestly trying to, you know, get Molly to keep. In fact, I'd wholeheartedly endorse that!

"John, are you finished?" he sad simply, still without making eye contact. John didn't respond for a moment, then cracked a smile.

"Did you actually snog Molly Hooper in my kitchen?!"

"_Oh-kay_, we're done here!" Sherlock exclaimed and set his violin down again.

"No really! I mean, it's difficult to imagine you kissing any woman, let alone Molly!" John continued, following Sherlock as he walked through the flat.

"Let alone Molly? What does that mean? She's certainly attractive enough."

"Ah _ha_!" John exclaimed "You just called her attractive! I don't know if I've ever heard those words come out of your mouth. Admit it!"

"I find lots of women attractive, John! I may not feel the need to announce it at every moment like you do, but I'm certainly not blind...Irene Adler for instance, she was attractive," Sherlock said, sounding a bit defensive.

"Yeah, but nothing happened between you two!"

Sherlock was silent for a moment and looked at one of his forensic pathology books rather intently. John stared at him hard, and spoke again more pointedly.

"Nothing happened between you and Irene right? Or did I miss something?"

"It...could have."

"What?!" John almost yelled.

"And by, it could have, I meant it could have happened if I'd let it...but I didn't. She asked me to have dinner, and I never took her up on that offer."

John straightened up a bit and looked confused.

"Well to be honest, Sherlock, I was talking about a bit more than eating a meal together in a restaurant."

Sherlock looked up at John briefly, before looking back to his book.

"As was she, John."

John's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Alright, but you're not really proving a point are you? You turned Irene Adler down. The Woman! And then you snog Molly Hooper at my flat and tell me it meant nothing?! Clearly there had to be something going on there!"

"Oh I'm sorry, John, are we still talking about Molly? I thought we had moved onto my feelings on women in general," he said, clearly making fun now.

"Oh I see, you're now blatantly avoiding the topic. That's very clever Mr. consulting detective! Well look, you know where to find me if you ever feel like actually being honest about your feelings with your best friend. And I'll give you one piece of advice whether you want it or not. Grovel! You're going to need to grovel Sherlock. This is light year worse than that silly outfit insult of a couple weeks ago. Makes that look like nothing. See you later, Sherlock!"

"Mmm, thanks for the invaluable insight, John. I'll never forget it as long as I live!" he gushed sarcastically.

The door shut, and Sherlock sat there still pretending to read his book for a few minutes. He mulled over every word that John spoke of course, once he was alone and in the quiet of his own mind. The truth was that he fully intended to grovel. He realized that an offense this large against a woman so sensitive was significantly more than he'd ever had to apologize for in the past.

The actual problem was that he didn't know exactly _what_ he'd be groveling for when he went for it. It had been two days since the incident, and he still had no idea where he stood. He got extremely confused when he was face to face with Molly. Up till that point, he had had a plan and was simply following it through. As long as he got Molly to stop paying attention to the lying stranger, he would get discouraged and the whole thing would come to nothing. But when he was so close to her, and she was looking into his eyes so intensely, things went too far. He had never planned to kiss Molly Hooper. Something took over in that moment.

Even Sherlock Holmes was aware enough to understand that he may actually have developed feelings for Molly. It was certainly where his mind was going as he looked into her eyes and squeezed her hand. But was it real? Or was this simply what happened when you allowed emotions in? Could they just run wild and trick you into doing crazy things? He honestly didn't know because he didn't have enough experience.

"_What do you need_?" echoed again.

Sherlock shook his head a little and ran his fingers through his hair. He let out a low growl and spoke into the air.

"Why do you want to know?! You already know! I told you what I needed, and you helped me! What else could I need?!"

"What's that Sherlock dear?!" came the yell from Mrs Hudson in the hallway.

"Not now, Mrs Hudson!" he bellowed.

"Alright, alright! But I'm always here if you need me!" she answered.

His eyes narrowed and they darted around looking at nothing in the room, but everything in his mind...always here if you need me...He thought about that in connection with the words that Molly had spoken to him years before. When Molly had asked him what he needed, it wasn't a one time offer. And there was no repayment required either. She was just there, and she always wanted to know what he needed. He had kept remembering it lately because that's what was amazing about Molly Hooper. And that's why he couldn't do without her. Not because he could get anything he wanted from her, but because he'd never known someone to care so deeply for him who he had previously cared so little for. She saw what most others don't. She saw that he needed help sometimes. It was a little known fact, partly because he had made it that way. Somehow she saw beyond what everyone else saw.

He had confirmed from the events of two days ago that Molly still harbored strong feelings for him. But how would he explain his behavior to her? Because of his lapse in judgment in the kitchen, he couldn't quite explain it so easily. So he came to the conclusion that there was only one thing to do. Be honest. He didn't know why he did it. And he'd have to tell her just that. There was nothing else to say except that. And he could only hope that she was as forgiving as she had been in the past.

Sherlock walked over to the window again and looked down at the street below. He picked up his violin and started to play. After twenty more minutes, he took out his phone and sent a text.

I'M COMING TO BART'S. BRINGING COFFEE. -SH


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock heard his phone chime as he approached Bart's and checked the text he'd received.

NO NEED, THANK YOU. -MH

He immediately decided to disregard this text and strode into the main level of the hospital and was about to head down the hallway that lead to the cafeteria. But he was stopped in his tracks suddenly.

"Sherlock! You're here already? Did someone call you? I was just about to," Lestrade said as he walked over to him.

"Not..that I'm aware of. I was just here for...something else. Was going to be heading downstairs. Where were you going?"

"Well, fancy that! I'm heading down as well. We can pay Molly a visit together then," Lestrade announced cheerfully.

Sherlock groaned inwardly, as this was not exactly the circumstances he had envisioned for seeing Molly the first time since their... incident. But he changed coarse and followed Lestrade to the elevators, since the situation couldn't be avoided at this point.

"Had a home burglary gone bad last night. Burglar woke this couple up and they get out of bed. He starts demanding that the husband come down stairs and open up the safe in their basement. He tries to refuse and the guy pulls a gun and points it at the husband. The wife is much closer, and she panics I guess. She goes right for the guy, just lunges straight at him in front of the gun. It fires point blank right through her heart. Woman was dead before she hit the floor. This seems to have freaked the bugler out because he took off while the husband was busy trying to help the wife. The husband's a mess, just saw him this morning. Wanted to get a report on the body from Molly before I start the rest of the investigation."

"Probably an inexperienced criminal. Must not have intended to ever fire the gun if he left like that. Probably young, maybe a teenager," Sherlock stated, feeling a little relieved to be going over a case instead of what he thought he'd be focusing on while at Bart's.

They arrived at the basement and a security guard then buzzed them into the main hallway. They came to the morgue and Sherlock felt a sinking feeling again as he realized he would have to face Molly.

Lestrade knocked on the door and waved with a smile as Molly looked up and saw them through the small window. Sherlock clearly saw her face fall as she saw that he was there. But she slowly walked over and let them in.

"Hi Greg, good to see you," she said nicely.

"Oh you too Molly." Lestrade glanced at Sherlock for a split second, obviously wondering why Molly had acted like Sherlock wasn't even present.

"I'm sure you're here to see Mrs. Larson. I was just finishing up the report. She's right over here." She walked over to the cold metal bed that held the covered body. Molly pulled back the sheet down to the woman's bust line. The bullet hole was ominous even in it's cleaned state.

"So the husband described the burglar as being tall, about as tall as him. That fit with the angle of entry?" Lestrade asked while examining the wound.

"Yep," Molly answered flatly. Sherlock dared to look at her and found that she was consciously avoiding his gaze as she stood on the other side of the table. She held up a plastic bag also and handed it to Lestrade. "The bullet," she said.

"Poor woman. The husband will have to be coming in soon too," Lestrade said quietly as he took the evidence bag.

"Stupid," they heard her mutter under her breath.

Lestrade shot Molly a quizzical look. "What? Did you just say stupid, Molly?"

"That's right, stupid. I mean what could the woman have been thinking? She was a foot away from the gun when it went off, and her husband was at least 8 feet away. Let the stubborn idiot who wouldn't open the safe get shot. At least he would have had a better chance at surviving! But no! She had to leap in front of a bullet for the man. Think of yourself for bloody once woman," she said in a small but charged voice.

Lestrade's mouth hung open. He narrowed his eyes at her and watched her as she shook her head slightly and pressed her lips together.

"You're not going to say all that when Mr. Larson comes down are you?" No answer from Molly as Lestrade continued to stare. "You alright Molly?" he pressed. But then Sherlock spoke up.

"I believe, Lestrade, that Molly is taking her own feelings of anger and bitterness and projecting them onto this poor dead woman who lays before us." Sherlock met Molly's gaze as she finally looked up at him.

"Please don't deduce me, Sherlock," she said in a warning whisper.

Lestrade looked back and forth for a moment between the two who were locked in what seemed to be a highly charged staring contest. He stepped back a bit and took the gloves he wore off and threw them away, while still observing the two.

"Uh, look, I think we're pretty much done here. You can uh, fax me the report when it's all set, Molly...You coming Sherlock?"

"I think not...I'll see you later at the crime scene if you still need me, which I'm sure you will. You can text me the address."

"Will do, Sherlock...You sure you'll be staying?" he asked as he opened the door. After receiving no answer, he shook his head in confusion and a little worry, and left the room.

Molly pulled the sheet up over Mrs Larson's white face and stood back while crossing her arms in front of her. "I cried for you, you know. I had to stare at a dead Sherlock Holmes on one of these tables two and a half years ago. I cried every time I had to touch him," she whispered, without looking back up at him.

"It wasn't me," he said simply. She shot him a wounded look as she answered, and he could see that her eyes were wet.

"It didn't matter. It looked like you and that was enough. That's how much I cared! I knew you were alive and it still tore me up inside! Do you have any idea how that feels?"

He didn't answer. The truth was that he didn't know how it felt, but the idea of admitting that out loud somehow seemed horrible. So he stood still and just watched her instead. She ripped her gloves off then and threw them on the floor, then took a sleeve of her lab coat and wiped her eyes.

"Why did you do it, Sherlock? Why?!" she said in a pleading tone.

"Well...If you recall, Moriarty had been threatening-" he began trying to be delicate as he could be, but he was cut off rather quickly.

"God no! Not that! I'm not talking about that..." and her voice trailed off as she walked over behind the desk and sniffled a bit.

_How did the conversation shift so suddenly in her head_? Sherlock wondered. He mused that perhaps this was how lost people sometimes felt while conversing with him. But he also caught up and realized where the shift had finally taken them.

"Right. That. I'm glad we're onto that topic since it's the very reason I came by in the first place. Yes, I realize I showed up with Lestrade instead of the coffee, but that's only because he ambushed me in the hospital entry way...So, you want to know why?" He stepped over toward the desk.

"Honestly, Sherlock, I don't really need you to answer that. I already know you were trying to manipulate things...I just never imagined you would take it that far."

"I wasn't trying to- Well, no, actually you're right. I was trying to distract your attention away from a man who I was concerned could be a danger to you. But," and his voice dropped lower as he came and stood next to the desk she stood behind. "I did not in fact plan to...kiss you. That was wholly...unexpected."

She seemed to be considering this, and the frown on her face had softened a tiny bit. "Then, I''ll have to ask why again, Sherlock. Why did you do it?"

He clasped his hands behind his back and looked down for a moment before he answered.

"The truth is Molly, that I don't know why I did it...and I'm sorry."

"That's every woman's favorite thing in the world to hear." She let out a shaky sigh.

"I meant that I'm sorry I can't offer you any sort of explanation. I'd be lying if I said I was sorry I'd kissed you, Molly. The actual kiss was...rather nice. And I'd never expected to feel that way with you, or maybe anyone." He raised his eyes cautiously toward her. Her own gaze met him half way and they looked at each other for a moment before Molly took a visible cleansing breath and spoke again.

"I don't know it I can do it anymore, Sherlock. These past six months...it's like I'm thrown right back into where I was two years before, like nothing had ever changed. It's like it doesn't even matter that I had a fiance, or other boyfriends at all! You're in my head, Sherlock, and I can't seem to get you out not matter what I do. And it's going to drive me mad, I know it. It's bad enough to see you week in and week out. But if you really start playing with my feeling...Sherlock, I think I'll have to leave. Do me a favor will you? Can you just treat me like you did about 5 years ago? It would really help me out." She let out a exhausted little laugh as she ran her hands over her face.

"I don't think I can do that, Molly," he said in a deep whisper. "I understand now how much you've always cared. And I realize how much I value your...presence in my life. Perhaps it's selfish of me to say, but I can't just let you go and act like you're the girl who thinks she doesn't count again."

He stepped behind the desk and positioned himself in front of Molly. She looked nervous, and he recognized some of the same body language that he had witnessed in John's kitchen. He decided to take her hand. When he did, he felt the same electricity that had happened two days before. She responded instantly to the touch and began breathing faster as the color increased in her cheeks.

"I'm a lot to handle, Molly Hooper, and I think I'll never be anything else. But all I'm asking right now is that you be patient. Because I don't know what I'm doing. I feel about as much control holding your small hand as when I leaped from the top of this building. All I know for sure is that I don't want to lose you. But even I don't know what that means yet. It's one thing I can't...deduce so easily." Her lips broke a bit and smiled. He exhaled, relived to finally see her more at ease.

"So, what does this mean? I mean, what do you expect me to do? Am I supposed to be ok with...not knowing? That's usually called stringing someone along in the world of us regular people."

He showed plainly on his face that he was about to say something to explain away the issue, and make a reason as to why those silly rules don't really apply. Not to him at least, Molly thought.

"I hardly see how not knowing is a crime. Especially since I live in a world where other people don't know 95% of the things that I know at any given moment. But anyway, you haven't known anything else for years, and I've even shamelessly flirted with you in the past to get what I wanted. It seems to me that this change in events is an improvement for you. At least now I care more about your feelings, whatever mine truly are. I haven't changed anything except the fact that we've now shared a kiss." He seemed pleased that he'd made a very logical point.

Molly tried not to laugh at him, because this perfectly illustrated how very inept he was when it came to feelings and romance of any kind. And much to her chagrin, she couldn't help but think, look at the poor man. Of course the regular rules don't apply to him. He can't even begin to comprehend them! But there was one more thing she couldn't help but bring up.

"You know, Sherlock, you keep talking about the kiss we shared. I'm not exactly sure I would call that a kiss." She looked at him a little mischievously.

He finally let go of her hand and she saw his brow furrow in thought. He looked a little displeased. And Molly thought she may have found a regular man in there somewhere, because she could see he wasn't happy about the possibility of falling short in the area of physical affection.

"I believe it met the general criteria. Our lips did come into contact," he said with narrowed eyes.

"Barely," Molly said with a little shrug.

He rolled his eyes and clasped his hands behind him again. "And it's no wonder I've not been romantically attached before! The expectations are exceedingly high."

"Well it's not your fault. Perhaps it would have been a proper kiss if we hadn't been...interrupted so suddenly." She looked around the room conspicuously for a moment, before looking back at him.

"And...I'm sure there exist places that would carry with them a lesser chance of getting interrupted. Places out of the way, with less...people, for instance." He also looked around the room briefly.

"Or even just less people who are...alive." she said, whispering the last word as if not to hurt their feelings, but then cracking a smile.

Sherlock eyed her for a moment, considering this. He reasoned that if he was to figure things out, what better way to do that than going back to what started it all...and just kiss Molly Hooper.

He placed his palms onto the surface of the desk behind her, creating what felt to Molly like the most wonderful little world to be encircled in. And he leaned down, similar to what he'd done two days ago. But this time, when their lips touched, it wasn't just a brush. Their mouths locked together, and Sherlock began to understand why Molly had accused their first momentary encounter of being less than a real kiss. He took one hand away from the desk and wrapped it around her waist, which made her respond by grabbing the collar of his coat with one hand and wrapping her other around his neck. Her fingers sunk into his dark hair and his other arm left the desk as well now, to pull her in closer.

Molly was the one who finally had the good sense to pull away, and she held him back with the hand that was holding his collar still. She exhaled in a sigh.

"I think that's enough for one visit to the morgue for you," she said breathlessly. "I always wondered what that would feel like though. Almost every time I watched you standing in the lab pouring over whatever you were doing, _this_ was what I had wanted to do...exactly...this."

"I'm ashamed to say I didn't, and now I realize what an idiot that makes me." He ran a hand over his face. He straightened up and cleared his throat. "I think I owe you another apology, Molly Hooper." He buttoned his coat as he began to walk away.

"This is some kind of a record," she said with a chuckle. "What for this time?"

He opened the door and looked back at her with a small smile. "Well you know me, how I hate being unproductive and bored. But it seems I've wasted a colossal amount of time...I'm sorry I didn't kiss you like that five years ago."

"Me too," she said softly, almost feeling a little emotional now from the rare tenderness in his voice.

He swung the door closed and she saw him turn his collar up as he walked away from the view of the small window. Molly collapsed in the chair behind the desk now, and sat in shock for a good ten minutes, also unable to clear the smile from her very happy lips. Then she heard her phone and pulled it out of her lab coat pocket to check the message.

NEXT TIME WILL BE DIFFERENT...I WILL BRING THE COFFEE -SH


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock was in an extremely good mood all that next week. He didn't insult people's inadequate intellect nearly as often as usual. He yelled less, and he played more upbeat music on his violin. He still felt that things weren't set in stone with Molly, but he couldn't deny what he had felt particularly that second time he had kissed her.

And there was one thing he was more sure of now than ever before. No woman would ever love him as much or in the same way that Molly Hooper loves him. And that was an amazing thought, even to a man who hated sentiment.

He'd thus far kept these events and feelings to himself. But he was pretty excited 9 days after the events at the morgue when he was in need of doing some testing at the lab. He called John and told him to meet at the hospital cafeteria. Sherlock wanted to now confide in his friend that there had been some developments with Molly. And he also very much looked forward to seeing her again.

"Why did we have to meet in the cafeteria, Sherlock? Aren't we going downstairs?" John complained.

"We are indeed, John. But I'd promised Molly last time we met that I'd be bringing coffee the next time I saw her, and I'd like to stand by my word." Then he smiled slyly at John.

"Wait, did you just give me some sort of a look? Are you speaking in metaphors I don't understand? Wait, when did you last see Molly? I hadn't heard anything more about it so I assumed she either cut you loose or you never even apologized."

"Well John...I think you'll be pleased to hear that there have been some new, and extremely enjoyable, developments in that department. You see, the last time I was here at the hospital, Molly and I shared a kiss that far surpassed the one in your kitchen, no disrespect to your excellent cooking accommodations of course. It was in the morgue and-"

"My God!" John interrupted "You kissed a woman in a morgue!...Actually that's quite fitting. If I'd have to imagine you all over a woman, it would make most sense in a morgue. I think you're probably happiest there...but wait, back up! So I'm assuming she forgave you."

"She did after I made it clear that I hadn't intended to kiss her for the purposes of manipulating the situation. I explained that I'd actually done it because I had wanted to. But I did make it clear that I needed to think and wasn't really sure of what my feelings were...and then I kissed her on the morgue desk."

John's eyes became saucers. "_On_ the morgue desk?!"

"Sorry, my wording was deceptive. She was actually only leaning on the morgue desk. Does that clarify? I'm not used to having to share these sort of details of intimacy with others." He put the two coffee cups into a holder and the went for the elevators.

"I think I get the picture thanks," he said with a little grimace. "So your feelings seem pretty clear to me Sherlock. I wouldn't keep her waiting too long. She'll think you're stringing her along."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks as the got on the elevator and looked shocked at John.

"Amazing! She used the very same term! Does everybody except me know this type of slang?"

John laughed at his friend. "Yes, Sherlock. Everyone who's been dating for the past 30 years or so. So when did this little incident happen?"

"That was, Oh let's see...nine days ago now."

"Ah ha, and does she know you're coming in? Hope she doesn't mind I'm tagging along."

"No, I haven't told her. I was thinking she would appreciate the element of surprise!" he said raising his eyebrows dramatically.

"But when did you last talk to her?"

"I told you John, nine days ago," He said with a matter of fact tone.

John stared at Sherlock and began to shake his head slowly. "Oh you poor stupid sod...Look, I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but you're probably in the dog house again."

The elevator stopped and they exited, heading for the morgue door.

"John that's ridiculous. What could I be in trouble for now? The last time I saw her we shared a highly charged, and long awaited on her part, kiss. And now I'm surprising her with coffee!" He continued to march happily down the hallway through the door as the guard buzzed them in.

John did his best to keep up and tried to get ahead of him a little and slow him down. "Sherlock stop! That was nine days ago! Do you know what a woman thinks if you kiss her and then go that long without any communication? She concludes you're not interested!"

"Again, John, you weren't there. She clearly got the impression that I was at least on some level interested. I don't feel the need to reach out in electronic communication for no purpose at all but to make contact! What am I supposed to do? Send people who care for me a text once in a while simply to let them know I'm still alive and breathing?!"

John halted in front of him and raised his eyebrows in an accusing glare. Sherlock nodded then, before snaking around him to continue walking.

"I concede, bad choice of words...but I maintain that it's not necessary in this case. I've simply had no logical need to get a hold of her since our last meeting! She'll be happy to see me, you watch." He stopped in front of the lab and knocked on the window.

They both saw Molly's little head pop up from whatever she was looking at, and her eyes widened. She made her way over to the door while pulling gloves off and then smoothing some hair from the side of her face.

"Sherlock, John, w-what are you doing here?" she stammered as they walked in.

"Hello, Molly! I was pleased to find that I had some important samples I needed to analyze, and I brought coffee as well, just as I'd said!" He set the tray down, looking pleased with himself.

"Well, I didn't realize you were coming. I have already had my coffee," she said walking past the tray and back around the lab table.

"Oh," Sherlock said in a small voice. "Well, wouldn't want to go beyond your daily caffeine intake...Anyway, I'd like to take a look at these it you don't mind." and he came over behind the table as well with his samples. He stood near her and noticed the familiar scent of her hair when she turned her head toward him to briefly look up. But then she gathered her papers up and walked away again. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he began to detect a decidedly different type of body language from the one she had displayed nine days ago.

"I've just finished these reports, so...I'm just going to go file them. I'll come back later. Ok...bye." She glanced nervously at both of them before exiting the room rather quickly. The door shut and John came over to Sherlock made a little clicking sound with his teeth.

"Boy did you shut me up. I mean I could hardly believe how all you had to do was walk in the door and she simply jumped into your arms in celebration of your return. _Amazing_. You certainly know what you're doing...I'll have to start coming to you for advice. I'm sure Mary would be a much happier woman."

Sherlock clenched his jaw and glared at John. He wanted nothing more than to be distracted then, and began going about his research in stoney silence for the next twenty minutes. But it didn't help much. Out of the blue, as John was busy noting something in his phone,

"This makes no sense at all, John! Have I told her that I am no longer attracted to her?"

"No."

"And have I told her that I no longer believe I may have developed some sort of feelings beyond that of friendship?

"No."

"And have I given any indication that I have moved on in my affections to some other woman?"

"Nope," John said, popping the last consonant.

Sherlock groaned and set a beaker down in its stand rather roughly.

"Are you ready to actually hear some helpful hints now without acting like you somehow know better than me about this stuff?" John prodded, sounding a little like he was talking to a child.

"I may be," Sherlock said in a discouraged tone, not looking up.

"I'm going to put this in a way that you'll understand best," John said coming over to stand next to him. "Molly is like you when you're at a crime scene, or talking to a suspect. She's not just looking for what's there, or what she has solid evidence for. She's looking for what's _not_ there. And then she takes what she _doesn't_ see, and comes to her own conclusions about it. If you don't make an immediate and decided effort to see a woman after the first date, she assumes you never want to. If you don't tell her she's pretty, she assumes you don't think she is. And if you never tell her you love her, she will assume you don't."

The wheels in Sherlock's mind turned. "It's like an extremely inaccurate form of deductive reasoning. I should really get her to stop doing that."

"N-no. You cannot, and will not ever be able to change the workings of a woman's mind Sherlock. It's never going to happen. And if you try, you'll soil any chance you have at being happy with her. Women just need reassurance. As long as you tell them what they need to hear, and show them how you feel on a regular basis, they will be happy."

"So...lie," Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes anew.

"I didn't say that. You tell them the truth, but probably more often than you would naturally be doing it if it was up to you. Because, you do want to spend more time with Molly, right?"

"Yes."

"And you do think she's pretty, right?"

"Yeeees."

"And you have...feelings for her also, right?"

"Some sort, yes."

"Ok! So just go with that, and be just a tiny bit more expressive about it. You don't have to be a different man, because she did actually fall in love with you as you are, God help her. But you do need to think outside your own head just a bit in this case."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he frowned, as if it was the most horrid suggestion he had ever heard. "Think _outside_ my head? Are you mad?! My head is the best place to think!"

"Oh Lord, well I'm sure you'll catch on one of these days. I think this is deep enough for your first lesson."

"How many lessons exactly will I be requiring on this subject?"

"If you're lucky, a lifetime of them...but that makes my head hurt to think of right now, so I think I'll just bow out now before Molly comes back and leave you to it," John said as he gathered up some of the information he had acquired.

"Drop those at Baker Street, John, and I'll get them later. And I'll call you about the case too. We may need to go to the pier tonight...because I am now positive that this is in fact chum from the bottom of the suspect's shoe!" he called as John made his way to the door. John gave him a smile and a thumbs up as he left the lab.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later Molly came back into the lab with a couple files in tow. She looked uncomfortable when Sherlock looked up from his work at her.<p>

"Will you be long?" she asked quietly.

"Just finishing up actually."

She nodded silently. They both stood there, each on one side of the table not saying anything.

"I wondered if something had happened to you," finally came Molly's small voice.

"Well you would likely be the first to know, working in the local morgue." She shot him a look which made him think that wasn't the proper answer. So he went on. "It was brought to my attention-"

"By John," she stated instantly.

"Yeeees...by John," he admitted rolling his eyes. "Anyway I realize now, based on the information that women need regular forms of reassurance, that it's not really the thing to do to kiss a girl and then unwittingly withhold communication for this length of time. But rest assured that my...feelings, and intentions of exploring them have not changed since nine days ago."

"Well, that's...good to hear." She looked up at him cautiously. There was a small pause, and then Sherlock blurted out awkwardly,

"And you also look pretty today, Molly." He smiled a little.

Her mouth curled in a smile that she was clearly trying to control. She came around to the other side of the table and stopped in front of him.

"You don't have to say things just because John thinks you should," she said and smoothed the wool fabric that didn't need smoothing on his coat lapel.

"But you do look pretty. And I've been informed that I should say these things out loud more often than I normally do...which is normally never." He felt a little distracted now by her hand on his coat.

"If you'd like," she said, and he could discern now, in light of John's insight, that what she really meant was that she would like that.

"So...what now?" she asked while absentmindedly hooking a finger into a button hole in the coat.

Sherlock's eyes darted down at her hand on his coat and then back up to her.

"You could kiss me now," he said locking onto her eyes with his own. She blushed and looked away for a moment.

"Is this how it's going to be now? You show up at Bart's once in a while, kiss me, and then leave me in misery for days?" She was smiling though.

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in exaggerated thought process. "It could be less days of misery this time, and with some sort of communication in the interim...promise...Now will you kiss me?" he asked again raising an eyebrow.

She smiled and shook her head while raising up on tiptoe. "Now who's the needy one?" she whispered and pressed her lips to his while slipping her arms around his neck. His arms immediately went around her waist, holding her up a little as the kiss grew deeper. He was becoming completely lost as she slipped her fingers into the soft curls on the back of his head. Then...

"Oh my God, I think I've gone blind!" Lestrade had walked in and was standing there looking shocked out of his mind.

Sherlock released Molly letting her feet hit the ground again and he cleared his throat. He shot Lestrade a glare and then turned his back so that he spoke only to Molly.

"I will now emphasize what I had said before, based on the undeniable intensity of the kiss we just shared...Many days fewer of misery since, to be perfectly frank, it is likely at this rate the misery will be largely mine, and I will text you as well...I'll see you soon, Molly Hooper."

"Ok," she said softly, and was still looking red in the cheeks.

He leaned down and kissed her lips quickly before turning to leave the room, walking past Lestrade who still looked like he'd just seen a ghost.


	8. Chapter 8

HELLO MOLLY -SH

HI...WHAT IS IT? -MH

NOTHING AT ALL. JUST MAKING AN EFFORT TO COMMUNICATE. -SH

THAT'S LOVELY SHERLOCK...ITS 3AM -MH

IS IT?...I HADN'T NOTICED. -SH

GOOD NIGHT SHERLOCK. I'LL CALL YOU TOMORROW. ;) -MH

THERE'S NO NEED TO RESORT TO PUNCTUATION IN THE FORM OF SILLY FACES MOLLY... GOODNIGHT. -SH

XOXO -MH

YES...LETS DO THAT TOMORROW. -SH

The strange and, as yet, undefined relationship between Sherlock and Molly had been going on for a few weeks. He hadn't expressed any absolute about his feelings. But he couldn't stay away from her for long, that at least was clear to Molly and everyone else.

She was now living in a little dream world. For years she had waited every day, hoping that the wonderful Sherlock Holmes would pay a visit to the hospital. Whenever he did, she would hang on his every word and dread the moment when his business was finished. Because he certainly never stayed longer than he absolutely had to. Although she never knew of him having a girlfriend in his life, she also lived in constant fear of the women outside the hospital walls that he regularly came into contact with. Women who didn't wear shapeless white lab coats and didn't work where it was cold and ugly. She imagined how so many other women must feel about him, and would always wonder why he would ever choose her if given the chance.

But these days, Sherlock came into the hospital at least every few days. Half the time he didn't have any other business there, besides coming to see her. Now it was she who would have to press him to leave eventually. She would be the one trying to get some work done, and he would come up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist and perch his chin on her shoulder.

"I used to annoy you when you'd try to work," she reminded him one time.

"Annoy is a rather...strong word. Besides, that was before I knew how much fun it is to kiss you." Then he'd spun her around and demonstrated.

Molly wondered if things would ever change, and she couldn't decide how that made her feel. On the one hand, she believed that if Sherlock Holmes came into her work every 3 or 4 days for the rest of her life and snogged her behind the microscope, that would be enough to make her die a happy woman. On the other hand, she worried that she would want more eventually. What if she wanted to be able to wake up next to him every morning? Or be the one to take care of him when he's sick? Or always be right there when he finished a big case? There were certainly things she would miss out on if the relationship didn't get more serious and progress.

"I don't know John. We're just...taking things slow," Molly said with a sweet smile.

One day John had been sent on a mission by Sherlock to test a couple samples. Sherlock had been extremely upset that he couldn't personally go to the lab, but Lestrade had needed him on site for the new case involving underground drug trafficking.

John placed a dish under the microscope and inspected while he spoke. "I was just wondering if he'd said anything to you. He hasn't said that you're his girlfriend, but he does sort of act like you are. Are you ok with how things are going?"

"Sure...I never thought I'd be with Sherlock at all. But I've always been in love with him. So to me, anything like a relationship is worlds more than I expected I'd have with him."

"Don't be afraid to speak up though Molly. You've certainly got him now, so you have it in your power to make some demands once in a while. If you do ever need more than he's giving you, you should say."

Molly smiled at John, who she had come to see as a brother. He was like the balance to Sherlock. And she knew that he was always the voice of reason in Sherlock's head. She loved him for that.

"I will, don't worry John. How's Mary?"

"She's well. Working hard...she worries about us taking this case."

Molly's eyes shot up from her computer screen "Why? Is it dangerous?" she asked with fear in her gaze.

John touched Molly's hand softly. "Don't worry. Every case is a little dangerous. But you know Sherlock, he always manages to keep himself in the land of the living. I think being dead would be too boring for him! Especially now that he has you."

She gave a small smile, but she couldn't help feeling an ache in her gut, and remembering the horror of seeing the lookalike dead body of the man she loved. She could understand why he was reckless sometimes. He seemed to believe he was invincible. And in a way he was. But at the end of the day, he was human, and she knew how delicate a human can be. She prayed that any feelings for her would out weight the need for excitement and adventure on the job. Because she didn't care how many cases he solved, so long as he came home at the end of them all.

* * *

><p>Later that day she did something she didn't normally do...or ever do. She decided to stop by 221B Baker Street unannounced. She figured she had the right to do this since he frequented her place of employment simply for the pleasure of her kisses. She came inside to the stairwell and stood listening for a moment to the sound of Sherlock playing his violin. Then she climbed the stairs and knocked at his door. The violin stopped.<p>

"Molly?" she heard him say from inside, sounding surprised. He opened the door and even in the shadow of the doorway she could see he was beginning to smile.

"How did you know it was me?" she said as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.

"All my close acquaintances have very distinctive knocks. John's is firm but not too loud indicating friendliness, Mrs Hudson's is a rapid succession of tiny knocks in the pattern of a concerned parental figure, Lestrade is always obnoxiously loud being an officer of the law, and yours is...hesitant, not a perfect rhythm, and quieter."

"Guess I can't say, surprise then eh?" she said with a little nervous laugh.

"I am surprised though. Is everything alright?"

She looked around the room with a little smile. "Sure. I just thought I'd come say hi...and maybe see how the case is."

"The case?" he asked, peering down at her.

"Y-yes. The case you're on right now. The underground drug trafficking. I saw John today and-"

"You're worried," he said in a low voice.

"What? No, no. I'm just asking, I mean just checking...I shouldn't be worried. Why would I be worried? This is what you do. You do this all the time. It's no big deal."

Sherlock went and sat down in his chair and gestured to the one across from him, inviting her to sit down as well.

"But you're clearly worried, all the same," he repeated, as she took a seat and felt a little warmth coming from the fire place to her left. She didn't respond.

"I can't change anything about what I do Molly," he continued.

She nodded and looked up at him across the space of the two chairs. "I know that...I'd never want you to. It's who you are. It's who I fell in-" and she stopped herself, ending with a nervous smile and then shifting her eyes to the fire.

Sherlock watched her intently. His eyes moved over her and read every little detail of her face and body language. He could see the marks of concern all over her. He thought about the last time he'd sat across from a woman in this room by the light of the fire. He remembered her eyes as she knelt close in front of him, and the feel of her pulse racing against his fingers on her wrist...and somehow it all paled in comparison to this small woman sitting nervously across from him, barely able to look into his eyes for more than a few seconds. He felt like he wanted to say things to her, comfort her, but somehow couldn't imagine what that would be. He believed he had now mastered the art of kissing Molly Hooper, but the skill of saying the words that he knew she wanted and needed to hear were still elusive to him.

"You don't need to worry about me. You never did before, I believe," was all he could think to offer.

"I've worried about you lots of times Sherlock. You know I worried about the whole thing with Moriarty. And there were plenty of times before that, but I don't think you noticed then. Besides, we've never been...close before, when you were on a dangerous case. So it feels a little different. Like there's more to lose...I know I'm being silly." She looked down at her hands in her lap.

"No..." Although normally he would categorize concern over his safely on a standard case as silly, he was making a concerted effort not to hurt her. "It's nice of you to...show concern."

"Really?" she whispered, looking up with her brow furrowed.

"Sure...of course," he said with a little smile.

She smiled back, seeming pleased that she hadn't put him off with her silly emotions that he, not long ago, couldn't be troubled with. She got up then and went into the kitchen.

"How about I make some tea? Or," and she stopped to look back over at him "would you like to have dinner?"

"Sorry what?!" he sputtered out as he shot a look back at her.

She then went back to filling the tea pot. "It's ok though, I mean if you're not hungry," she added.

Sherlock felt his face becoming hot, and hoped she was still facing the stove. "Is it?" he replied and his voice cracked a little.

"Sure! We can just have tea. How about dinner another time then?" she said, walking back over and sitting down again across from him.

His breathing slowed a little and he managed a more relaxed smile. "I'd like that...another time, yes," he said softly.

There was a moment of silence as he watched her, and he began to wonder again what he should be saying in a moment like this. The woman he...felt something for, sat in the light of his fireplace and was now making them tea. She glanced around her at the apartment that he could see held some uncomfortable memories for her. But she wanted to feel...at home here. She didn't want to feel out of place anymore.

"What am I Sherlock?" she asked then.

"You're a Pathologist, Molly Hooper." He frowned a little, wondering why the obvious question.

"Well yes, but, what would you call me?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Would I use a term other than pathologist?"

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes a little. "What I mean to say is, what am I to you? Like, what if we met new people? You would say 'hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective. And this is..." She leaned forward a little prompting him to finish the sentence.

He leaned in a little too, staring back at her with eyebrows raised in question. "This is Molly Hooper the Pathologist?"

Molly dropped her head in frustration for a second and then looked up again with her lips pressed together. "Sherlock! Am I your girlfriend?!" she finally blurted out.

As if on cue, the kettle began screaming in the kitchen. Molly then broke the uncomfortable staring contest and got up to tend to it. He sat there, trying to digest this question rationally with his hands pressed together in front of his lips. All evidence would suggest she was indeed his girlfriend. It's how he was acting. And how he was treating her. And how he looked at her, and thought about her, and spoke about her. And a million little things that couldn't be quantified or defined. He hadn't really planned on defining their relationship, maybe ever, since he tended to be so very comfortable with things statuesque. But he couldn't escape it now...and he was surprised to find that he didn't particularly want to. He came to his answer, as usual, by deduction. He considered the alternate possibility- _no, she is not my girlfriend_, and then immediately dismissed it as impossible. Impossible because he could no longer imagine his life being happy without her smiles and kisses and looks and silly emotions, and all the things that made her Molly.

Sherlock got up and walked over to the kitchen table where she stood trying to fill the tea pot among the rubble of his experiments. He stopped right behind her back as she worked quietly. He finally opened his mouth and said, "Yes."

Molly set the kettle down and turned to look up at him. "Yes?" she questioned wanting to be sure she heard him right.

"Yes, Molly. You are my girlfriend...Hello I am Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. And this is Molly Hooper, the world's only girlfriend of the worlds only consulting detective. How does that introduction sound?" he asked with one raised eyebrow as he let his hands rest on her hips.

"It's horrible, Sherlock. Really dreadful," she said while the grin on her lips spread. "How about...hi I'm Sherlock, and this is my girlfriend, Molly."

"Well...I suppose that's alright if you insist on over simplifying things." He made a face of mock boredom.

"Nothing," she said as she took his hands and wrapped them all the way around her waist and then slid her own hands up his chest and around his neck, "is ever simple with you, Sherlock Holmes. But it's not about the title. It's about how you think of me. As long as I know that's what I am to you, I'm a very happy woman. You make me really really happy, Sherlock. So you'd better not ever go anywhere."

"You're doing a very good job of making me want to stay right where I am...and I'm glad you came here tonight."

Molly pulled his head down to kiss her then, simply because she couldn't handle the fire from his eyes anymore. It felt like looking at the sun. He clung to her waist and clenched bunched of her sweater in his fists.

Suddenly he yanked his lips off of hers and said quickly, "I changed my mind. I'd like to...have dinner." And then he moved his head back down and connected his lips instead to the side of her neck.

"You would?" she said with a shaky voice. "I could try to...make something...Do you have anything to...make..." and the words quickly became hard to form. And frankly she didn't care. They stumbled back into the sitting room while still connected and collapsed onto the couch.

"What about...dinner?" Molly attempted to ask again as Sherlock pulled her onto his lap.

"Not hungry," he mumbled quickly against throat.

"But you said..." she tried again, but Sherlock's lips left her neck and he silenced her by pulling her mouth back to his. She finally gave up completely, and her fingers had just sunk into his soft curly hair when a loud pounding on the door made them both jump.

Immediately, Molly shouted out, "Go away Greg!" before even Sherlock could.

He looked at her with wide eyes. "You recognized Lestrade's knock...That was fantastic." He sucked in a breath and pulled her mouth back to his, incredibly impressed by her deductive skills...especially in that moment.

"Sherlock! I know you're in there too! I'm going to keep knocking till you come out!" Lestrade kept on pounding.

"Lestrade, there cannot possible be anything more important out there than what is going on in here!" Sherlock bellowed. And even as he said it, he chastised himself, realizing that never before would he have said such a thing, downgrading the importance of a case.

"I highly doubt it!" Lestrade continued. "We got one of Frankie's guys! We're hoping he'll talk. You need to come down and...deduce him. He could lead us to the base! But once they catch on that we've got him, they'll bolt!" The pounding on the door continued.

Molly pulled away while her hands stayed tangled in Sherlock's hair. They stared at each other, and Molly grimaced a little, making a face of defeat.

"No!" Sherlock said knowing what she was thinking.

"It's ok, go."

"Not. Ok," he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes it is," she whispered and touched her forehead to his. He closed his eyes for a second. Then he groaned loudly while lifting Molly off of him and getting up from the couch.

He grabbed his coat and whipped it round slipping his arms inside. " I'm coming Lestrade! Do. Shut. Up!" He bellowed, and then he turned again toward Molly who had also come over to the door.

He took her face between both his palms and looked intensely at her while still trying to slow his breathing. "Do not move. You understand?"

"Hurry back," she whispered.

He shook his head slightly. "Molly, you have no idea." With that, he flew out the door and shut it behind him. Molly laughed as she heard him yelling at them on the way out, "Shut _up_ Lestrade! Let's just get this done!"


	9. Chapter 9

Molly puttered around the apartment for an hour or so. She had some of the tea she had made for herself and Sherlock. She tidied up the kitchen a bit. At least the areas that weren't housing Sherlock's experiments. She wandered into his bedroom and looked around as if she were in a museum. Standing in Sherlock's bedroom would've seemed a complete impossibility only a few weeks before. But now, it was her reality. She looked at the neatly made bed and touched the pillow where he would normally lay his head. It felt cold to the touch, and she sighed sadly. If he hadn't been made to leave the apartment, this is likely where they would be right now. Both of them, together. Maybe sleeping peacefully by now, or talking. Either would be fine, as long as they were together.  
>She went back into the sitting room after a while. By then it was 10pm. She watched an hour or so of television, and started to feel sleepy. She wasn't going anywhere through. She vowed to stay put till Sherlock came back, just like he had said she should. But she took out her mobile and sent him a message.<p>

IM GETTING SLEEPY. WAKE ME WHEN YOU GET BACK...I MISS YOU. -MH

Molly pulled a blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around herself. The soft fabric smelled just like Sherlock's clothes and she sighed happily as she pulled it up to her chin and snuggled into the throw pillow. She was asleep very quickly...

* * *

><p>She heard something that startled her awake and then connected the sound to her phone buzzing on the table in front of her. Her first concern was that the time on her mobile said 12:30am! And then she saw that it was John calling...<p>

"John? What's going on?" she asked, her pulse immediately racing.

"Molly? You need to come to Bart's. Lestrade just told me nobody had called you."

"I said what's going on?!" she said, her voice raising now as she stood up from the couch.

"Molly, Sherlock's been shot," he said in a shaky voice.

"Oh god...Oh my god..." She began looking frantically around for her things. "I'm coming, John! Just tell him I'm coming ok?!" she almost yelled.

"Molly, don't rush! Just be safe! I can't tell him anything right now, nobody can. He's in surgery."

"Surgery?!" she said as she yanked her coat on and grabbed her bag.

"There was a bullet that hit his arm, and one in his side. They missed vital organs. But there was some bleeding so they needed to stop that, and they needed to get the bullets. He's been in surgery for an hour now. I just got called myself, and when I got here I asked where you were. I can't believe they didn't call you already!"

Molly was now climbing into the back of a cab as she spoke. "Probably didn't have time to get the office memo...he only just told me tonight John, that I'm his girlfriend." Her voice broke and she started sobbing.

"Oh, Molly..." It sounded like John was getting emotional as well. "Don't panic ok? It doesn't look too bad. They'll tell me more when they come out of the OR. Just get here safely and then we can talk more ok? Are you ok?"

"Mmhm, I'm ok thanks. See you in a few, John." She said gulping back more sobs. She hung up and hung her head in her hands letting the tears flow. God help her if she lost him now, she thought. She couldn't even imagine the pain she'd be forced to live with. And all she could picture was his cold pale body on a slab in the very room she worked in day in and day out. Only this time, it could be real. She cried all the way to Bart's, then worked hard to dry her tears when the cab stopped. She didn't want to be a mess once inside and dealing with people. Even if she had the right to be.

* * *

><p>Molly rushed into emergency and was then directed down the hallways to the operating room family waiting area. John and Mary were there and greeted her with hugs and words of reassurance. But she knew she'd feel no complete comfort till she saw his eyes looking into hers again. Lestrade came too, and spent some time with the three of them.<p>

It was then that Lestrade finally gave her the details that she both needed, but didn't want to hear. They had spent some time with the man who worked for the drugs dealer. Sherlock was able to give them most of the information and then had also spend extensive time mapping out to the officers the areas that they should be checking. When they were done, they had been planning to bring their prisoner for extra confirmation as they went where they believed Frankie may be. Sherlock was heading home though. They left the precinct, and as they all came out, a man stepped out of the alley about one building down and opened fire. The clear intent was to kill the prisoner. The group they were hunting were notorious for...eliminating any possibility of spreading information. They succeeded in killing him too. But Sherlock and another officer were also hit. The other officer was only hit once though, and hadn't needed surgery.

"He went down, and I pulled him back into the entryway of the building. He was losing consciousness already...but he was asking for you, Molly. I'm sorry it took so long. I was immediately pulled in to spend time making statements and describing the shooter, as were all of us. I finally sent John a text when I had a spare second. And I knew he'd call you." Greg laid a hand over Molly's. "He almost had my head for making him leave you earlier...now he's really going to kill me!" They all couldn't help laughing a bit.

It was another two hours before they had any sort of news. Molly spent the whole time pacing the waiting area and walking the surrounding halls. She read her text message feed of his over and over. And she imagined seeing him look at her again, willing it to be a reality. The doctor finally came out though and pulled John aside, talking to him first, then John came over to give the news.

"He's out. He's going to be ok. He'll be in recovery for another hour or so till he comes out of the anesthesia. Then they'll put him in a room. Then you can see him Molly." John squeezed Molly's arm.

Molly started crying again, this time out of relief. She clung to John's neck and then sat on the couch stunned and tired from an overflow of emotions. She tried to shut her eyes while they waited to hear he'd been put in a private room. But she found it impossible to stay asleep for more than a few minutes before startling into waking again. It was less unpleasant to just stay awake.

* * *

><p>About an hour and a half later the nurse came to tell them where he was. By this time it was about 5am. Mary had to work at nine, so hoped to go home to get a couple hours rest at least. But Molly absolutely refused to leave.<p>

"Please, I can't sleep anyway. Let me just sit in his room, I wont be a bother at all!"

"Could she please?" John said too, wanting to give Molly the comfort of at least being in the same room as Sherlock. "He asked for her when he was shot."

The nurse looked into the pleading eyes, and finally nodded. "Alright. But he's really not awake much yet. We'll have him medicated enough to keep him comfortable after the operation for a while. So he may not even be aware that you're there."

"He's Sherlock Holmes," Molly said with a small smile. "He's probably already aware we're in the hospital."

She kissed Mary and John goodbye. John wanted to make sure Mary got home alright and he promised he'd be back first thing after she went off to work. The nurse walked her into the small room a few minutes later and Molly had to put a hand over her mouth to stop the tears again. It was half overwhelming relief to finally see him and watch his chest rise an fall in the beautiful pattern of breathing, and half horror at the sight of Sherlock in a hospital bed. On some level, she saw him as untouchable. She'd literally watched him defy death, and many other times narrowly avoid it. So this was a sight difficult to process. Sherlock Holmes reduced to a barely conscious figure in a bed with wires and tubes connected to humming monitoring machines.

The nurse folded out an arm chair into a hard, plastic, lumpy bed for Molly. She wondered who decided this was an adequate sleeping arrangement for the distraught family member of an ill person. Not that she cared much in that moment. She would have sat on the floor if it meant staying here with him.

* * *

><p>She spent the next three hours alternating between trying to lay down and close her eyes, standing by the window watching the street begin to light up below, and sitting on the edge of Sherlock's bed while holding his hand. It was around 8am when she felt his fingers move against her own.<p>

"M-Molly? Molly..." he mumbled slowly.

"I'm here. I'm here Sherlock, and I'm not going anywhere. What is it? Are you in pain?"

His eyes began to slowly open and he blinked a few times. Molly could see him trying to make deductions even in his drugged and confused state. He looked up at her finally and frowned.

"Molly, I think I've been shot!"

"Excellent deduction detective. It's ok though, because-" but then he tried to raise his head and shoulders off the pillow a little and was clearly greeted by piercing pain.

"Ah! Molly, I think I've had an operation!" He clenched his teeth as he stopped trying to lift himself.

"You know I'd be happy to tell you everything if you'd shut up and try to relax for a moment. Yes, you were shot. Two bullets. They had to operate for the one in your side. I'm sure you're feeling the effects of that incision. Your arm is just wrapped, but try not to move it too much. If you lie still, are you in much pain?"

"Some." he said, trying to steady his breathing. Molly reached over and pressed the button to allow for an allotment of medication to enter the iv. Then his eyes flew open again and he looked horrified. "Good God, you were at Baker Street."

She nodded and felt tears threatening. "John called me after midnight, and then I came here. I'm...so glad that you're..." She shook her head not able to finish the thought. So she just took his hand again and focused on it while trying to swallow the lump in her throat. He squeezed back and they sat in silence for a minute.

"They killed him. The man Lestrade had in custody, didn't they?" Sherlock whispered.

Molly nodded. "Another officer was shot too, but she's going to be ok. The shooter is out there somewhere though."

Sherlock's jaw set, and he looked frustrated at the failure of the efforts from the night before. Molly wanted to avoid focusing on anything that would make him upset. Not exactly the best way to heal quickly.

"John is coming by in an hour or two. And he sent me a message a while ago that he would bring Mrs Hudson too. They'll be so happy to see you awake and looking so well!"

"I'd be happier if I was home!" he muttered in complaint.

_And he's back_, Molly thought.

"How long exactly are they planning on keeping me in this horrible place?"

She leaned in holding his hand to the crook of her neck as she spoke. "You can say whatever you like, Sherlock Holmes. I'm just happy to hear any words at all coming out of your lovely mouth."

His gaze turned more serious again, and he said in a sad and quiet voice, "We never had dinner."

Molly pressed her lips together and felt her cheeks becoming hot. "Sherlock...I don't think we ever would have had dinner if you'd have stayed home."

"Exactly."

She smiled and laced her finger between his. "You're going to have to let me in on this little secret language you have in your head, or I'll forever be confused about your intentions."

He sighed, "As usually, I miss the mark of human interactions. My design since last night has been to assimilate any possible confusion you had in your head about my...intentions."

"Well, try not to think about your intentions for now, Sherlock. Right now you need to focus on getting better and getting home. What would happen to the world if the only consulting detective was out of commission for too long?" She offered a comforting smile, but his eyes were searching her face.

"You look awful. How much have you slept since last night?" he asked.

Molly sat back and ran her hands over her face. "Sorry, I must be quite a sight. I probably got a couple hours on and off, mostly from when I had slept on your couch when I was waiting for you."

He reached for her to come in closer again and touched her face, which was a gesture she'd not seen him make before. "You've got to rest Molly." Before she could stop him, he began using that good arm to push himself over on the bed through great effort and wincing in pain.

"What are you doing?! Don't move!" she said, but didn't know what to do in order to stop him. He had managed to push himself all the way to one side of the hospital bed soon, and then pushed the blankets aside.

"There," he said exhaling loudly. "Get it."

"Sherlock...I most certainly will not-"

"Oh relax, I can barely move my lips to kiss you. I'm hardly going to try to take advantage of you in a hospital room while hooked up to every monitor in creation! You need sleep, and I need you here with me. Get in and rest, Molly, before the hoards of ridiculous visitors arrive."

She looked at the bed with him in it, and couldn't help but feel her eyes get heavy already. "Well...alright. But you'd better tell me if you're in pain, or you need anything, or I'm crowding!"

"Shut up and get in."

Molly kicked her boots off and slid under the white blankets. It was warm underneath them and warm next to his body. She could just fit if she turned to her side, in the couple feet of space he had to offer. He took his arm and wrapped it around her and she rested her head on his chest. The feel of his chest against her face, rising and falling with each breath, was enough all by itself to lull her into finally restful sleep...

* * *

><p>"Oh would you look at that? Isn't that the most darling thing!"<p>

Molly woke to the sound of Mrs Hudson's emotional voice as she and John walked into the hospital room. Mrs Hudson of course carried with her a large bunch of flowers. John carried Sherlock's laptop.

Molly glanced up at Sherlock and he appeared to have been awake for some time. True to form, she still slept more than him. Even after he'd been shot, operated on, and put on pain meds.

"Mrs Hudson, really, you didn't have to bring in the entire gift shop's worth of flowers!" he said in a disgusted tone, but he smiled when she deposited a kiss on his cheek. "Oh! Give it here John! I've been bored out of my mind!" He reached out to where John stood holding the laptop.

"How you doing Molly?" John said softly as she sat up a bit while Sherlock raised the height of the head of the hospital bed.

"I feel better now, thanks. I'd better get up before the nurse comes in a has my head!"

Sherlock put a hand on her leg to stop her. "Don't be ridiculous! You're comfortable here, and I want you here. She can say whatever she likes. She already came in and complained while you were still sound asleep. I got rid of her quickly. Started explaining exactly why she hadn't gotten the most recent pay increase she'd been hoping for." His lip curled in a half smile, obviously pleased with himself.

"Well that's a sight I never thought I'd see!" Lestrade said loudly as he walked in the room also. "But I've never been happier to see you Sherlock. You scared me to death last night." He looked as if he hadn't gotten much sleep either.

"You've got a lot to answer for, Lestrade. In the future I'm going to think seriously about ever leaving the comfort of my own flat because you come banging at my door at night. This is not the setting or the bed that I'd imagined being in with Molly by this morning!" he said, not really looking up from his laptop.

"Sherlock!" Molly groaned with her face in her hands. Then she looked up, grimacing in apology to the rest of those present.

"But," Sherlock continued, now looking up "You also helped save my life, as I recall. And for that I thank you."

Lestrade smiled and nodded. "We're working on finding the shooter of course. The evidence we compiled last night before the shooting is still invaluable. So it wasn't all for nothing."

"I should hope not!" Sherlock said, sounding a little indignant.

"When will you be coming home, Sherlock dear?" Mrs Hudson chimed in.

"They wont tell me a thing! It's like they're never planning to let me leave! You talk to them, John, and get me out of here as soon as possible!"

John rolled his eye, "Sherlock, you did only just get shot and operated on less than twelve hours ago! How about you shut up, check your emails, snuggle with Molly, and relax? Just be patient! Good Lord, if only you were comatose!"

"I'm glad he's not," Molly said sweetly and laid her arm around his shoulders while letting her fingers rest in his hair. She planted a kiss on his cheek, making him smile while still looking at the laptop screen.

John shook his head a little. "I think this was easier to process when it was hidden from sight, down in the hospital morgue."

"I think it's adorable!" Mrs Hudson gushed.

"And I think...I've got work to do." Lestrade added. "I'll keep you informed, Sherlock. I know you'll hunt me down in a wheel chair if I don't."

He left, and John stayed another hour with Mrs Hudson and Molly. They listened to Sherlock complain about the hospital, the news articles, and the fact that they didn't make hospital beds large enough to accommodate an extra person for cases such as this.

"Usually, Sherlock, the patient doesn't have visitors actually _in_ their bed. It's supposed to be in their room. But I'm sure they'll greatly appreciate the feedback on your discharge comment form!" John said as he pressed the button, administering more pain meds. Then he touched Molly's arm. "Why don't you go home for a few hours Molly? Come back whenever you're ready. You could still do with more sleep."

She looked at Sherlock almost for permission, and said "Well, I would like to have a shower too. Do you mind? I'll come back soon, I promise!"

He barely looked over, "Don't be silly, why would I mind? I'm not exactly at death's door!"

Molly smiled and kissed his cheek again before getting up. "I'll have my mobile on. Just call me if you want me to bring anything back with me, or if you need me sooner, or anything!" She gathered her coat and bag, and John watched Sherlock's eyes as he kept glancing up almost covertly as she left the room. Once she was gone, Sherlock focused his gaze fully back to his laptop, but his brow was creased.

"Don't worry, she'll be back soon," John muttered, enjoying a rare moment of deducing Sherlock and the fact that it was hard for him to even watch her leave the room.

A moment passed and the he swallowed visibly before closing his laptop and looking at John. "I've never been so scared as I was last night John. Not even when I faked my own death. At least then I had a plan. This time, I didn't have anything. I hit the ground, and I thought that was it. And I saw you. I saw all of you. And I believed in that moment that I'd never see any of you ever again. All I could think of was Molly telling me what it was like to cry over a body that she knew wasn't even me. But I was afraid that this time, it would be real. And no matter how much I've hurt her before, there would be no greater hurt now than leaving her...and I never want to. I never want to leave any of you, not like that at least."

He looked up at Mrs Hudson's damp eyes and John smiling at such a heartfelt expression, and added in a low voice, "I love you all too much."


	10. Chapter 10

It took a few days for Sherlock to convince the hospital to discharge him. But finally they did. And when they finally did, Molly got flowers, chocolates, and a card...for the hospital staff.

She had been thrilled to get Sherlock back to 221B Baker Street and had been shocked when Sherlock made no complaints about her offer to come take care of him at every opportunity when she didn't have to work. He still had some difficulty getting around, and was in enough pain to need occasional meds. So it made sense that someone should be there when possible. But she hardly expected him to agree to frequent monitoring.

He hadn't been overly affectionate or expressive of feelings, but Molly had noticed a change in him. He simply expected her presence now. He barely flinched when she offered to bring dinner over, or come do some laundry, or make him some tea in the morning before she went to work. These were exactly the kind of "relationship" things that Molly had always imagined being impossible in the case of Sherlock. She had then started offering to do things and take liberties that she normally wouldn't dare to. Simply to test the limits!

"Sherlock, what if I come over after work and bring a DVD I've been wanting to watch? It's a romantic comedy."

"That'll be fine."

"Sherlock, it's looking a bit dusty in here. Why don't I vacuum next time I'm here?"

"If you'd like."

"Sherlock, can I come over and bring some file folders to organize your papers?"

"Just don't lose anything."

That last one really alerted her. She'd never known Sherlock to let anyone mess with his work related things. Maybe John sometimes, but only for the purpose of working on a case. Certainly never for the sake of neatening up!

Not long after, she asked John to come meet her for lunch at the hospital. Molly fiddled with the corner of her lab coat as John stared at her perplexed.

"So, let me get this straight..you're worried because Sherlock is letting you do whatever you want? I admit it is miraculous but, Molly, I don't think I'd be worried."

She shook her head though. "John, the last thing I want is for him to feel like he has to change for me. What if he ends up resenting me?! Maybe he wont mind for some months, or even a year or two! But eventually he'll look at me and say 'why did I let you change my life?'"

"Molly I think he's just in- I mean I think he- Look, it's fine I think. Maybe you need to talk to him about seem to have him eating out of your hand right now, so why don't you just make him tell you why he's being so horribly...accommodating."

Molly sighed. "You're right. I just wondered if he'd said anything to you. I'm just not sure why he's so...nice. I guess this is the kind of thing you have to worry about when you're Sherlock Holmes girlfriend."

* * *

><p>Molly sent Sherlock a message and let him know she'd be bringing some food over tonight and hoped to have a quiet night in. He of course said that was fine.<p>

She sat there on the couch with him later after they'd eaten and she watched some television while keeping an eye on Sherlock next to her who was reading John's latest blog on his phone. She reached over and laced her fingers into his, and he responded by locking his as well and squeezing her hand. But she then immediately pulled her hand away and turned to face him while shutting the TV off.

"Ok, what's going on Sherlock?" she demanded.

He narrowed his gaze and looked around the room confusedly, then back to her. "Sorry, what?"

"You're acting like a...normal boyfriend! You let me clean, you let me feed you, you watch movies you don't like with me, and now you're just sitting with me and holding my hand?! Have I done something? Did I make some sort of demands I'm unaware of?...Or are you taking more pain meds than you're allowed, Sherlock Holmes?!" She pointed an accusing finger at him at the last question.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in shock and set his phone down. He sat back and studied Molly for a moment. "You are worried because I'm acting too normal?"

"Well...yes. I'm afraid if you change too much for me, you'll end up hating me one day." She looked a little embarrassed.

Sherlock sat up again and moved in closer to Molly. "First of all Molly, there's no possibility in all the world that I'd end up hating you. Second, I am out of work right now if you'll recall. And I'm home "recovering" doing very little. It's extremely boring! And you...aren't."

She stared back at him in awe. "Im...I'm not?"

"No. You're incredibly interesting Molly. You're beautiful, and smart, and fascinating, and funny, and adorable. And lots of other words that I'm not used to using in description of another human being. And the truth is that I haven't cared one bit what you were doing here, so long as you were _here_. I just wanted you here with me. The thought of dying and leaving you when I was shot was..." He looked down at his hands pressed together in his lap.

Molly watched him and felt like her heart was about to absolutely explode in her chest. He just wanted her around. He needed her around. He needed _her_. Not to give him something, not to help him with some sort of project or errand, just to be with him. And this was different than him enjoying the occasional kiss at Bart's, or even here at 221B. He just wanted her presence. She wanted to kiss him right then, but something made her hold back. She didn't want to stop him from talking right now. She thought...hoped...he had something more to say.

"Molly, I won't be home recovering forever. I will go back to running around the city, and texting till 3am, and doing experiments on my kitchen table. But even when I do...I don't want everything to go back exactly to the way things were."

"You don't?" she said, trying to control her voice.

"No. I'd like you to keep coming over, and doing ridiculous things to take care of me, and sitting here, and holding my hand for no reason. I'm not sure I can live without those things. Now that I know what it's like. I'm used to it...and it makes me happy. You make me happy Molly." He reached over slowly and wrapped his hand around hers. She felt her heart pounding in her throat.

"You make me happy too," she said in a quiet voice, but still wanting him to go on.

"You asked me years ago what I needed, and I said I needed you. But I didn't realize that was quite literally true. I actually need _you_ now. And I'm pretty sure I'm never going to stop needing you. So, I'd like to keep you Molly Hooper, if I could do that...because..." And he examined her hand in his, seeming a little nervous.

"Yes?" she whispered, trying to encourage the words to come out.

He connected his eyes to hers again, and they smiled at her even though his face was serious. "Because I love you, Molly. I'm in love with you."

The flood of emotions she had been holding back broke forth. She took her free hand and covered her eyes as the tears began falling. And her whole body shook in ridiculous sobs that she tried to control. She had often fantasized about Sherlock Holmes proclaiming his love for her, but she had never included ugly crying in those scenarios. She wished she could stop, but it was a release that was the very end of a very very long wait. And she hadn't realized how emotionally exhausted she had been till the weight was finally lifted. She attempted to remove her hand from her eyes, but her eyes were so clouded with tears that Sherlock was a blur sitting next to her. This now made her add laughter into the perfect storm of emotions.

Sherlock cleared his throat a little and looked from her, back to her hand in his lap. He was a little taken aback at the level of reaction his declaration of love had caused. He was only glad that he had ended up doing this here in the comfort of his flat instead of a nice restaurant like John had suggested.

"I haven't had much experience with this," he began cautiously "but is this the typical reaction to an expression of love?"

Molly took her arm and wrapped it around his neck placing her forehead onto his shoulder. She sighed against his shirt and felt her body calm a little. She sat back up and threaded her fingers into his hair as she spoke. "It is when you're the one expressing it, Sherlock. It is when it's something I've wanted to hear for five years, but never truly believed I would. I've loved you for years, Sherlock. Sometimes I loved you so much it hurt!"

Her expression seemed to touch him. He frowned a little and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her face forward to press a kiss to her lips. And she was almost certain she felt his lips shaking against hers. Then he rested his forehead against hers.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "All those years, I hurt you so much. And can't ever take that back."

"I wouldn't change a thing Sherlock. This moment means more to me now than it would have so many years ago. Because with each day I saw you I loved you more. It's the dream of this moment that kept me hanging on, even when there was no chance. I still held out hope. Foolishly, by all accounts, but I did all the same. And now I feel like it was all worth it...because you love me. And that's all I ever wanted."

"You're an extremely patient woman, Molly Hooper. I will never understand how you didn't got bored waiting around for me come to my senses."

She smiled. "Because there's nothing boring about you, Sherlock Holmes. If you weren't pretending to flirt with me, or asking me for body parts to experiment on, or insulting me with your deductions of my appearance and that of my idiot (and sometimes psychopathic) boyfriends, you were asking me to fake your untimely suicide...Time flies when you're having fun right?" she said in her signature bright cheery voice.

He shook his head while drawing in a deep breath. "God, I love you," he breathed out, and loved how the words made her smile and her cheeks flush all over again.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing you say that...Love you too." She touched a kiss just to the corner of his lips.

He took another deep breath and ran his hands over his face before smiling back at her.

"How is it that a psychopathic criminal mastermind is no match for me, but you can render me completely useless with one little kiss?"

"Because it's different...I'm not up here so much, Sherlock." She touched his head. "I'm in here." She laid her hand on the smooth fabric of his white shirt on top of his heart, feeling it beating hard.

He could only nod in response. Of course the actual scientific truth that he fully realized, was that human emotions existed only in the mind. Not in the actual organ named the heart. He knew that his brain was what housed his love for Molly, just like all the other facts and events and information he had cataloged away safely. But somehow in that moment this was the best, most logical, and beautiful deduction he could think of...

He may be the ruler in the palace of his mind...but Molly Hooper was unquestionably now, the ruler of his heart.

The End


End file.
